self destruct
by Last Girl Standing
Summary: or, a series of couincest drabbles/oneshots that never end well. Not just NextGen. lately: andromedaregulus, frediidominique, lilyiivictoire
1. an artist's dream: regulusandromeda

She's an artist's dream- literally and figuratively.

He drinks up the soft curve of her throat, her dark eyes as they glow, reds and golds from the fire where her gaze is at.

_(She's perfect. _He thinks, soaking up every curve and color on her. _A goddess among mortals.)_

"Andromeda..." he murmurs, lowly in the near silent, near empty house. Narcissa, Bellatrix, and both their sets of parents are asleep. They're the only ones awake, and the fire's smooth crackle and his low, deep murmurings are all they can hear.

"Hmmm?" She asks, quietly, innocently. Her mind is away at the moment, and she doesn't notice as he walks over and sits on the arm of her seat. "Is there something you need?" she asks him, eyes on the fire's silent twisting and curling, _(Like his insides right now, not that she needed to know) _and her fingers are clasped around the hot chocolate mug in her dainty hands.

The mug falls and shatters as he grasps her chin and presses his lips to hers. Her lips are warm and taste like hot chocolate, he notices. She pulls away. "Regulus..." _Not Reg, _he notes morosely.

"I love you, Andromeda..." He tells her, clasping her hand in his two,

"Reg," she starts, and his heart leaps, just for a moment, like the gold & red fire does from the coals. "I don't love you." She pulls her hand out of his two, and sends him a sad glance. His heart drops and shatters.

The fire rumbles on.

She slips into her room, as he call out to her, "There's someone else, isn't there?"

She emerges with a sad look and her trunk.

"I'm sorry, Reg." She doesn't say it, but the answer rings out, loud and clear to both of them.

_Yes._

_"_Where are you going?" He asks sharply, eying the trunk.

"Goodbye, Reg." She tells him, setting the note down on the table.

"Andromeda?" He asks, grabbing her right wrist as the left grabs Floo Powder to throw in the still rumbling fire.

"I'm leaving, Reg." she tells him, throwing in the Floo Powder, steping in and calling, "Tonks' Residence!"

He doesn't follow.

She's an artist's dream, alright, but Regulus' canvas is red and dark.


	2. pureblood poison frediidominique

He smiles at her; warm, friendly, laughing. He laughs boisterously across the room, bending over and falling off his seat. He punches her, grinning his madman grin, in the friendly way that cousins sock each other on the arm.

_(Yes, Dom, he's your cousin, he's family, don't you remember, Dom?)_

She lives for this.

A smile, a laugh, a friendly punch, anything, _this is her life._

She's addicted, a sick obsession with this poison, this toxin, and it's tearing her apart, ripping her to shreds. He's killing her, _and he doesn't even know it._

Who would've thought that redhead beauty Dom's sweet downfall would be her cousin, would be Fred Weasley II?

_(This is wrong. It's so wrong, he's my cousin, my cousin, my dad's little brother's son, my cousin with the lovely blue eyes, my cousin, my cousin, he's Fred.)_

_God, _you think, disgusted with yourself. _I- I- there must be something wrong with me._

She's addicted, and it's killing her, inside out.

But he's happy with Alice Longbottom II, someone else with a hand me down name and a lovely grin, and he's told you countless times, _"Alice, Alice, Ali, I love Alice!" _She's _heard _it, she's _seen _it, she _knows _it, Dominique Weasley's no idiot.

_(Oh, but she's a fool alright. A fool in every sense of the word, falling for her cousin and thinking that he could love her.)_

She stares at him from behind redblonde curls with Weasley Orange streaks and Potions homework. He dissapears and she stares at the notebook.

_"No poison currently known is orange without being defective." _

She scoffs and what's going through her mind is _Lies lies lies._

Fred Weasley II is orange. Orange hair and orange explosions and orange sparks and orange orange _orange._

And, dear god, Fred is not defective.

Dom would know.


	3. fire and ice: lilyiivictoire

**This is my first attempt at femmeslash, so please, give me feedback.**

* * *

><p>Victoire is ice. Cold, hardened, glances and icy blue eyes that freeze the core. She kills the boys with frostbite, she leaves them hanging on by one brittle, frozen thread. Her lips are cold, frozen insults on the tip of her tongue and her throat freezing over with words unsaid and bated breath. Her skin is like fresh snow, her eyes, icicles, boring into you like frozen daggers, and her hair is the fresh winter sun. She is silent, like the snowflakes, wanting to tell the world.<p>

_(If only, if only.)_

Lily is fire. Curls, untamedly bouncing and curling and twisting like wily flames. Her skin seems to glow with warmth, her lips a sweet ruby red (_and oh-so kissable- Victoire would know_) of the beautiful fire that she watches. She is dangerous- playing with fire, toying with it is always dangerous and you're no exception, are you, lilyflame? Her deep brown eyes glow with warmth, her breath hot and pleasurable against Victoire's. She wants to tell the world, scream it out, watch the flame of passion never have to hide, but she _can't_ and she _won't._

_(If only, if only)_

They're fire and ice, so dangerous, so beautiful, complete opposites. Eight year difference, the fact they're both girls and the oppossite thing is why people never bothered to look, never looked and saw Lily giving Victoire little notes, Victoire giving Lily a secret, _loving, _smile.

Teddy never had to pick, they picked each other.

Victoire had ice barriers around her heart, the frozen cold of a winter's night, and Lily came, like a raging fire, and melted it all away.

_(Watch out Lilyflame, before you slip and fall and break your heart- oops, you already did.)_

At first she doesn't tell Victoire. She doesn't tell her of the dreams, pleasure so good, it takes her breath away, and it's always _herherher. _Hair, lips, tongue, she's caught Lily in her frozen trap.

She pulls Victoire into heer room, closes the door and springs.

Victoire tastes good, right, _wonderful._

All she can think is _this is wrongwrongwrong _and _this is so rightrightright._

They meet up, more and more and more. Finally after twowholemonths, Victoire springs apart with wide eyes.

"This is wrong. I'm a girl- and you are, too! And there's that eight year difference and _Sweet Merlin, Lily, you're my cousin!" _

"Vic? Victoire? _Victoire!" _She shouts, near tears, but no one hears her- Victoire's _gonegonegone _and the Muffliato's still up.

Lilyflame, darling, aren't you aware? You melted Victoire's icy barrier, but left behind the water.

Now all that's left of fireandice is ashesandpuddles.


End file.
